


Spoken

by wendymr



Series: Tell Them [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, Gen, Post-S7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"People don't know how you feel about them unless you tell them."</i> Laura in <i>Dead of Winter</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spoken

**Author's Note:**

> With very many thanks to Divingforstones, who read through several iterations of this. Your input and support is so much appreciated!

The sun’s starting to go down as they’re onto their second pints, the prospect of both of them leaving the force sinking in now, starting to feel right, the natural course of things. Then, abruptly, memories of twelve years ago return. Robbie takes a sharp breath, staring out over the river.

“Robbie?” James’s voice is unusually gentle. “What is it?”

He shakes off the ghosts. “Just remembered. Hadn’t thought about it for years. This is where Morse and I had our last drink, a few days before he died.”

“I didn’t realise.” James reaches across and brushes Robbie’s forearm with his fingertips. 

“Ah, it’s fine. Not like we haven’t been here hundreds of times. It’s just — well, with me retiring... Morse was supposed to be retiring. He only had two months to go. And then three days later...” He shakes his head, remembering that bloody awful day.

“He was sick, though, from what I understand. You’re not.” There’s reassurance in James’s voice, and Robbie quickly acts to correct the misunderstanding.

“Aye, I know. That’s not what...” He pulls a face. “Never got to say a proper goodbye to him. I got to the JR after he was admitted, but — typical bloody Morse — he was still solving the ruddy case on his deathbed. Sent me off after the murderer, and... Well.” He holds up a hand to prevent James interjecting. “Got me thinking, that’s all. He asked Strange — that was our Chief Super — to thank me for him. Couldn’t even say it himself before he sent me away.”

James nods at that, empathetic gaze focused on Robbie.

“Got me thinking, given I’m retiring an’ you’re leaving — not that I’m intending to pop me clogs any time soon, but I didn’t want to... well, be like Morse an’ never say anything to you.”

A wry smile appears on James’s face. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“Good, ‘cause I wasn’t going to. Not what I wanted to say.” Robbie smiles in return. “Friends don’t need to thank each other. I know we’re both crap at this, but anyway — you’re a bloody good mate, James. Not just a good partner, though you’ve definitely been that, even if you couldn’t help bein’ a smartarse at times.” He allows himself a faint smirk. “You’ve definitely been more willing than I was to let your governor drag you out for a pint an’ listen to me natter about nonsense. Dunno that I’d have stuck the job anything like as long without you.”

That clearly surprises James. “Surely not—”

“Would I say it if it wasn’t true? You’ve not just put up with me bein’ almost as grumpy a bastard as Morse sometimes. You’ve stuck by me over things that had nothing to do with your job as me bagman. Simon Monkford most of all. Point is, you feel like family to me. _That’s_ what I’d want to tell you if I was on me deathbed.”

“Thank you.” James sips his pint, his face turning very pink. “I hope you know the same goes for me.”

Robbie nods, holding back a smile. They really are useless at this, aren’t they? Laura’d want to knock their heads together.

All the same, they’ve said the important things, even if some of it wasn’t using actual words. That’s what counts.

He raises his own pint. “Least this won’t be our last drink together,” he comments after taking a sip. “Not unless you go an’ do a disappearing act on me.”

“I think you’ve rather effectively demonstrated your ability to track me down.” A crooked grin from James, who’s pushing back his chair. “Another pint?”

“Yeah. Thanks, man.” Robbie looks out over the river again as James heads to the bar. The memory of Morse, empty pint-glass in hand that day twelve years ago, returns again: _That's why I want it — to think. I don't drink for pleasure!_ He smiles, shaking his head. _Don’t fuss, Lewis!_

“No, sir,” he murmurs, the response still automatic after all these years. 

“Robbie?” A hand presses on his shoulder, and he turns to see James, who’s placed a fresh pint in front of him.

“Sorry. Woolgathering.”

His soon-to-be former sergeant nods, expression understanding, and slides into his seat. James raises his glass and extends it towards Robbie. “To Chief Inspector Morse.”

“Aye.” Robbie clinks his glass against James’s. “To Morse.” He grins as a thought strikes him. “Who knows — maybe one of these days I’ll even get you to appreciate Wagner. He’d have liked that. Was more or less the last thing he asked me to do, now that I think of it.”

James sighs, shaking his head. “If I must...”

“Aye, canny lad, you must.” Robbie settles comfortably back in his chair, James beside him, and gazes out over the river, watching the sunset.

* * *

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Spoken by wendmr [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735865) by [lorcalon (uniquepov)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/pseuds/lorcalon)




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